Road Talk

Road Talk

  Volume 3 of Life and Love in Alaska

  By Cherime MacFarlane

  Copyright 2014 Cherime MacFarlane

  Copyright Notice:

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, events or locales is completely coincidental.

  Author's Note: The girls really did patch the tire with a tampon, kayak glue and duct tape.

  Artwork: Cherime MacFarlane

  Dedicated to: all lost loves and those who loved them.

  I’m James and Angel’s aunt. Angel works for Chapman Aviation Salvage. James is the owner of the business now. Aunt used to be a relatively loose connection in Alaska years ago. Since so many families come up here and leave family and friends somewhere down in the Lower 48, sorry, contiguous United States, we tend to make another family up here.

  I’ve known the boys for years. I was three grades ahead of both of them, James and Angel. James hung around with Angel during school. A true case of opposites attract.

  Angel and James made a friend for life the day they helped me out. Some ill-tempered driver bombed through a puddle next to the sidewalk by the playground and splashed breakup slush all over me.

  With the hem of his shirt, Angel cleaned off my face. James gave me his jacket, and they took me into the nurse’s office. James went home without his jacket that day. Angel spent the rest of the school day in a filthy shirt. He often wore ragged clothing to school, but Angel made a point of being clean, no matter what. I understood what that simple sacrifice meant to him.

  I will cheerfully admit to helping James get Angel through school. Several book reports and other papers had Angel’s name on them but got produced as a joint effort between James and me.

  Capable of doing the work, Angel often had to work after school. If Angel didn’t work, he wouldn't eat. Angel talked Luther into a job in his junk yard, he went there immediately after school and began removing parts from cars.

  Luther would have given Angel time off to get his school work done. Angel was the problem. He didn't want to be “beholden” to anyone. James and I were different. Since we were family, we could bail one another out.

  After graduation, Angel went to work for James and his father at Chapman. It was good for both my “nephews”. The old man began slowing down some but refused to admit it. James needed someone he could trust to keep on top of things when his father had him flying all over the state, gathering up parts. After James and Dorcas got married, the old man retired. Angel became even more important to Chapman.

  The three year age difference meant I met someone and got married way before my boys. My love, a transplant from Oregon, worked in the fishing fleet. We met in a bar when he was busy tying one on after having completed a lucrative season.

  After all the hype on the television about how dangerous fishing is, you might think I became a widow due to some horrid tragedy at sea. Instead, a miserable disease took my soul mate away.

  Life insurance is a good thing. So is the fact that Alaska is not a community property state. He signed for every medical treatment he had. When he died, all unpaid bills died with him. I was well provided for, in Alaska terms.

  I live in a paid for cabin out in the Matanuska Valley, close to Dorcas’ parents. They look out for me, bless them. I never need to worry about my driveway getting plowed. In turn, I am always available for dog kennel help if there is a need. In summer, when they are off on mission trips, I take care of anything their property needs. As I said, we make our families.

  I have one major vice, driving. At the cost of gasoline up here, it is a vice. I will go anywhere at the mere suggestion that someone needs to drive somewhere for any reason. Every now and again, if James needs something picked up somewhere, something that will fit in the back of my 4X4 pickup, I’m right there, ready to make the trip.

  Angel called me one day in mid-summer. A guy had crashed his plane and needed parts. In exchange for an engine from Chapman, he agreed to give up a couple of things James had been trying to pry out of him for years.

  I don't understand much about aircraft parts, even though I've been hanging out with those two for years. I know a couple of the big names, however. Piper, Cessna, and de Havilland.

  This particular old boy lived in the back of beyond out past Chitina on the road to McCarthy. Several years back, before the Wrangell - St. Elias National Park and Reserve area got established in 1980, the man had a fly-in wilderness thing going out there.

  Somehow or other he crashed a de Havilland Beaver. This aircraft is the real work horse of bush flying in Alaska. The guy still had the engine, and it wasn't sitting outside subjected to the harsh winter temperatures either. The whole engine had been sitting in a garage on his property, covered. Those engines were as rare as rare could be.

  James and Angel salivated over the prospect of finally getting their hands on the thing. But taking the engine out to McCarthy with James' plane wouldn't work. The creek up near the guy's place flooded the area leaving a real big gouge in his private runway.

  The man had a big fight going on with the Feds as they didn't feel he had the right to bring in heavy equipment to fix it. If he was going to get his plane fixed, someone with a 4X4 who was a bit nuts needed to freight one engine in and exchange it for the other.

  The boys got on the phone to me immediately. I know the area somewhat, have no fear of mud bogging, and not a lot of good sense, either. Angel advised me I had to take along a little muscle as neither engine was a lightweight.

  And I needed to throw in spare wheels and tires. I figured I'd take the winter studs along and the small hydraulic jack, just in case. I wouldn't worry about getting a ticket for having studded tires on in the summer on that road. The goal is to get off the road to McCarthy with the least damage possible, and at times that can be rough.

  Let me explain here. The road is built on the old Copper River and Northwestern Railway railroad bed. That means old railroad spikes often surface, and if your tire happens to find one ... I'm sure you get the picture.

  A while back, two Alaska girls patched up a tire with a tampon, kayak glue, and duct tape. Since it was their third flat on the road, they had no other means of getting to Chitina. It is one rough road.

  That was why I figured taking the regular spare and two others might do the trick. To make matters worse, the more a vehicle weighs, the more likely it is to find a spike. Hauling the engine increased the chances of a flat or blowout by fifty percent.

  I thought maybe one of the boys would go along for the ride. I agreed to meet James at the Palmer airport with a rented engine hoist in the back of the truck the next morning at about 8:00 am. James would reimburse me any out-of-pocket costs.

  Good with it, I backed up to the Hite garage, rolled the engine hoist out to the dirt loading ramp at the side of the barn, and got it into the back of the truck. The Reverend wouldn't mind the kids using the thing since James is his son-in-law.

  On the dot of 8:00 am, I sat waiting at the Palmer field. James flew in, a little hot as usual, taxied over to the truck, and got out with this guy I've never met. The look on my face must have given me away because James immediately started with the introduction.

  "Hey, Molly B. I want you to meet Louis. Lou, for short. He's working with us for the summer. He's used to crew on that crab boat Davis Lee was on."

  It had been four years since Davis Lee died. The crew had attended the funeral, but I don't recall much about it. I blanked everything. I'm still not good about dealing with that shit. I did not want to get into any of it, not without a full box of tissues.

  The guy stuck out his hand and short of telling him to g
et lost, I had to shake. I didn't recall Lou at all. Then again, he isn't all that remarkable where looks are concerned. Dark hair, dark eyes, and a face that looks as if it has seen a lot of wind burn over the years. Wrinkles around his dark eyes and at the corners of his mouth tilted upward when he smiled and said hi. Not a real tall guy, Lou was just kind of average all the way around.

  I did not like this action one little bit. I didn't know the man, and I would be stuck in a vehicle with him for probably somewhere close to twenty hours.

  "Listen, Lou, I need to talk to James here a minute." I grabbed James' arm and propelled him to the front of his Super Cub.

  "What goes here? I have no idea who that guy is. I'm not sure I want to in a vehicle with the man for as long as this will take."

  "Molly, I wouldn't have brought him along with if there was any other way. I've got to drop this engine off with you and head out to Dillingham. Dorcas can't hold down the fort 'cause she's down in Seattle with Mom. Frankie has a case of the stomach flu, and that leaves Angel to hold down the office."

  "I do not want to talk about anything. I don't need any stories about him and..."

  "Molls, honey. The guy is pretty quiet. Since the start of summer, I've maybe heard two complete sentences out of the man. The only reason I found out about his being on the boat with Davis Lee was when I mentioned sending you; he knew your name. I asked him how he knew you, and..."

  James shrugged. "Molls, I wouldn't send you out with someone I didn't trust. Since he's not the chatty type, I don't think he'll get on your nerves. Please, Molly. I need this engine swap to happen, and so does the guy it's going to."

  "If this goes to hell in a hand basket, you will never hear the end of it, James Chapman."

  James grinned. He knew I would do the job. "No surprise there, Molly. But, I don't think Lou will get your back up. Too far, anyway."

  I took a swipe at him, and James danced back out of the way. He was messing with me. I hadn't been on a long run since the beginning of summer, and James understood I was due for one. He also knew I had the camera along and would take any good shots I saw. So the next question was the timetable.

  "What's the name of the guy this is going to, and when do I have to be there?"

  "Thanks, Molly!" James gave me a hug before pulling out his cell. "Here it is. I'm gonna give you the guy's sat phone number. If you call him from Chitina, he will start out and meet you at mile 55. The State has a wayside rest area there with amenities, and you can switch the engines out, rest up, and head on back."

  I put the info into my phone and looked up at James. "So when did you tell Brewer to expect me?"

  "Well, it takes ordinary people about four hours to get to Chitina, so I told him to expect to hear from you about 11:00 a.m. or so, unless the troopers get you, then it'll be about noon."

  "Dang it, James! Do not jinx me! No slow jerks and no troopers, 'kay?" I took another swipe at him and connected this time.

  James yelped. "I'm gonna tell Dorcas you're smacking her man around. See how you like that action."

  I grinned at him. "Well, when I tell her how you're picking on me, we'll both gang up on you. Don't give me that shit."

  He walked around to the other side of the plane and yelled at Lou. "Keys are probably in the ignition on the truck. Why don't you back it around so we can get the engine loaded and you two can get gone."

  With a slight nod of his head, Lou walked up to my truck and got in. I watched as he put the seat back a little. "James, if he doesn't put the seat back exactly..."

  James reached out and pulled me into a quick hug. "Woman, will you take it easy here? Give the man a break. I swear he's not an axe murderer, and he has manners. Easy, Molly B., Lou is just muscle to get the job done. You're the boss, and I already made that clear to the man."

  I shut up. There was no use carrying it any further. It was just a job, and I needed to get it done. The fact that I would be in close confines with a man for well over most of a day just happened to be part of the working conditions.

  The fact is, I haven't done anything with a guy in the last four years. I don't want to. There isn't a man on the planet at this time that can measure up to the one I lost. There's only one man I want to be around. Since I can't have that one, I'm not looking for another. I may never be in the market for a man.

  Some city chick might need a man, but I don't. Anything that breaks around the cabin, I can fix. The only thing I can't fix is my truck, and that is why I own one that is only a couple of years old.

  When the mileage gets near ninety thousand, the truck gets traded in for a new one. I always get the largest available warranty they have. My insurance covers windshield replacement as I usually go through at least two windshields while I own the vehicle. This is Alaska. Gravel is all over the roads. Pebbles flying at glass at speeds of around 50 mph can do a lot of damage.

  My current vehicle has less than thirty thousand miles and already has two cracks in the windshield. But since the cracks are low across the bottom of the glass, I'll wait before replacing it. Although, this little jaunt out McCarthy way may well result in a new one.

  The guys got the engine out of James' plane and into the back of the truck fairly quickly. I used the tie down straps to secure the load. James knows I always secure my loads.

  I'm the pilot, and I want to be sure this heavy sucker isn't going to shift around and possibly damage something. I had the tires and wheels in front and behind the engine hoist. The engine sat on a folded up old blanket. I had just enough tension on the chain securing the motor to the hoist to keep it upright. The old blanket padded both the bottom of the engine and my truck.

  I love my truck. It is a sweet little thing with a six cylinder engine. I had the option of a four cylinder, but sometimes you have to bite the bullet. In this country, a 4X4 with a four in it is like a cat in hell without claws. You have to have some power. It might save your life, or someone else's.

  The bed is full size, and I have space in the back where I can cram in two adults in a pinch. Their knees will be against their chests, but in an emergency, that's how it goes.

  When I was satisfied that engine wouldn't move more than a fraction of an inch in either direction, it was time to fly for both vehicles. James gave me a quick hug. With a nod to Lou, he hopped in the plane to go gas up and get to Dillingham.

  Lou didn't say a word when he walked over to the driver's side of the truck. I was about to give him hell and remind him who was driving until he scooted the seat back where I originally had it positioned.

  With a slight grin, the man stepped back and held the door open. "Ma'am."

  I lowered my arms from across my chest, walked over and got in. He walked around, got into the passenger seat and buckled his seat belt. Without another word, we took off.

  Out of orneriness, I didn't immediately turn the volume down on the stereo when it automatically came on. The BlueTooth in the stereo was hooked to my phone; the play list is hard driving music. That means anything with a fast beat.

  Then it occurred to me that he had probably experienced the loud music when he moved the truck over to load it. He hadn't turned the volume down, and he didn't say a word. My scare the guy off tactics weren't getting anywhere so far with this man.

  I opened my window and hit the power button, releasing Lou's so he could open it if he wanted to. I didn't need to be nasty. Lou had a job to do and my making his life miserable because he happened to encounter me wasn't fair.

  I got gassed up, we grabbed some snacks and drinks and took off. The day was one of those when I was glad I had the camera. I wanted to see if I could get a couple of shots at the pull out past Palmer.

  That spot is the perfect place to see the Matanuska River from up the valley to the lower end. It's a cliff on a perfect sweeper curve and, in the summer, the State keeps it clean. There's a walkway up to the edge of the bluff. I have several shots, but you can never have too many good landscape photos.

  I dabble a bit in p
hotography, so I try to remember to take the camera with me. There's no telling when the perfect picture is going to turn up in the viewfinder. I sell photos now and again to people wanting to make post cards and that sort of thing.

  It didn't take me long to get the camera out and attach the monopod to it. Lou didn't ask any questions. He got out of the truck and sprinted up the incline before me with his cell phone out.

  Not planning to stick behind the fence, I began looking for a place to get over the barrier when the man reached out for my arm.

  "Why don't you give me the camera, then you can lean on my shoulder."

  I took that suggestion. Having a firm shoulder to lean on made it easier for me to scramble up the sandy spot that others had been using for the same purpose. Without any comment on my being on the edge of a crumbling chunk of earth, Lou handed me the camera.

  Before I knew it, the man stood beside me. While I set up my shots, he got busy taking pictures with his phone. As soon as I put the lens cover on, his phone went into his shirt pocket, and he held out a hand for my camera. Silently, he took my hand and eased me over the barrier.

  What choice did I have? I had to thank him. I've come up here by myself a couple of hundred times at least, but he did make it a bit easier. However, his helping without my asking for it had me a bit flustered.

  He didn't give me any choice in the matter, and yet he wasn't vocal about my being careful. Not a peep out of him about how dangerous it was. Hell, I understand it's questionable, easing out there on the edge of that cliff. Sometimes you have to take a chance.

  Without any talk at all, we got back in the truck and headed east toward Sutton. It did occur to me the man understands about taking chances. After all, he has crewed on a crab boat. If that isn't high risk, I don't know what is.

  Now I got curious. What was he doing up here in the summer? How come he wasn't home or out on a salmon boat in Prince William Sound? What was a fisherman doing on the hard at this time of year?

  My brain had all kinds of questions racing around in it. But I didn't want to be the first to open a dialogue since I was the one who bitched about talking in the first place. My big mouth had put the brakes on anything I wanted to ask, and I suddenly came up with a bunch of things to ask Lou. I wanted to know why didn't I recall ever hearing Davis Lee talk about him; it was on the top of my list.